Then he laughed a little—not very heartily; then, in a more familiar rôle, he sat down opposite the girl and held up one finger of admonition and consolation.
"The main thing, Dolly, was to get clear of him—and all that silly business. Yes? No? Bon!... And now everything is cleared up between us, and I've told you what I'd do—if you really wanted a chance. I believe in chances for people."
The girl, who was young, buried her delicate face in the roses and looked at him. The kitten, balanced on tiny, wavering legs, stared hard at him, too. He looked from girl to kitten, conscious of the resemblance, and managed to smother a smile.
"You said," he repeated severely, "that you wanted a chance. I told you what I could and would do; see that you live and dress decently, stand for your musical, dramatic, athletic, and terpsichorean education and drilling—but not for one atom of nonsense. Is that clear?"
She nodded.
"Not one break; not one escapade, Dolly. It's up to you."
"I know it."
"All right, then. What's passed doesn't count. You start in and see what you can do. They say they drag one about by the hair at those dramatic schools. If they do, you've got to let 'em. Anyway, things ought to come easier to you than to some, for you've got a corking education, and you don't drink sloe-gin, and you don't smoke."
"And I can cook," added the girl gravely, looking at her childish ringless hands. The rings and a number of other details had been left behind addressed to the count.
"The trouble will be," said Malcourt, "that you will miss the brightness and frivolity of things. That kitten won't compensate."